Seven Seasons Gone
by Clouded Horizon
Summary: When he turned his back on Redwall, he swore to never return. He swore it would be forever. But it was not to be... Seven seasons on, Dannflor Reguba returns to Mossflower – fighting to regain his identity, his honour, and the love of one maiden.
1. Chapter 1

Yes, I know I'll probably get some flames for this. But don't hold it against me. The idea was born from the thought that surely, not all happy endings can be forever. What happens when two hearts who were meant to be together are broken?

Seven Seasons Gone

Chapter One

Late evening shadows crept over the hilly southlands, casting the gentle slopes and fields into sharp relief. A lone figure appeared on the horizon, silhouetted on the crest of a mound, two sheathed blades obvious on either side of its belt. Upon closer inspection, it became apparent that the creature – a male squirrel – was wearing a russet-red tunic, with a brown soft-leather jerkin on top, and a black bandanna tied across his golden forehead. He looked to be in his early middle seasons.

The squirrel's name was Dannflor Reguba. He was indeed only ten seasons into adulthood, but already deep-furrowed lines on his face showed experience and bitterness beyond his age. He was a rogue; a mother long dead, a father lost, no married family to tie him down. The blades at his side had been forged with his own paws, with blood and tears – he no longer carried the great sword of his former life. And he told himself he had no wish to, although he sometimes felt a pang when he thought of the easy balance of it in his paws, the glittering blade and the polished pommel-stone.

Dann made his way down to the lee of the hill, where there was a crumbling drystone wall weaving away into the distance. He sat down beside it, on the other side to where the cold northerly wind was blowing, and set up a makeshift camp. Folding up his spare cloak for a bed as usual, he cleared a circle of ground and set some tinder in it. When he'd got a flame going, he reinforced the fire with a couple of slow-burning deadnettle stalks and took some food from his haversack.

After his lonely meal – like so many others he had had before – Dann tried to make himself comfortable, but for some reason, tonight he could not sleep. As the sky darkened overhead, he shivered, although he was sheltered here and not cold. The stars were veiled, just as they had been that night seven seasons ago –

_/Flashback/_

"_Dann!" cried Abbess Song in horror. "What have you done?"_

_The creature lay prone at his feet. Dann slowly unclenched his bunched fists, breathing heavily after the fight. "Song, stay out of this. It was between me and him."_

_The beautiful squirrel stared at Dann's rival. "He could be dead! Dannflor, I've made allowances before, but this – I can't –"_

_Dann growled deep in his throat. "It's not about what _you _can do, Song, it's about what I can do! Nothing! You and the elders, you're always telling me what I should and shouldn't do, who I should talk to, who I should help, what my responsibilities_ _are – I'm not free!"_

_Songbreeze had learnt much calm and patience in the three seasons she had been Abbess, but they seemed to be abandoning her now. "Dann, we – you're Abbey Champion – "_

_Neither squirrel had noticed, but one of the Infirmary Brothers was bent over the Redwaller lying on the grass. He looked up at Songbreeze with panic in his eyes. "Abbess – I can't find a pulse!"_

_Fear clutched at Dann's heart, but the anger and frustration he was venting swamped it. Song held her former friend's eyes, and he saw a cold fury there, along with hurt and terror._

_A kind of panic overcame Dann. He unbuckled his sword belt, throwing the blade of Martin the Warrior at Song's feet, and ran from the Abbey into the night._

_/End Flashback/_

Dannflor felt unwanted tears sting his eyes in remembered pain. He'd sworn to never associate himself with Redwall again, and the oath still held – but he was seven seasons older now, and the pain had never lessened. The place had, after all, been his home since he was a babe.

And the one maiden he had ever loved was there.

_I don't love her anymore,_ he told himself angrily. _I'm over that. _

But if he was truthful to himself, he had to admit she still held a special place in his heart. Despite his harsh words, he still remembered the laughing, dancing, singing squirrelmaid he had gone through so many hardships with, and loved for so long. Even through his many seasons wandering the foreign southlands, he'd never again met anyone like Song.

But she would hardly be a maid anymore, he thought bitterly. She was his age, an adult, burdened with the responsibilities of keeping a whole Abbey safe. And he remembered the anger in her eyes – vividly. Her face visited him in dreams, breaking his heart again and again.

But she would still be just as beautiful…

_Get a grip, Dannflor. You're never going to see her again,_ he thought savagely. _Never. Forget her, and live your own life. _

He pushed the memories from his mind, and thought instead of another old friend, one he had not broken with, but had not seen for seasons.

_/Flashback/_

_It was early in the morning when Dann reached the camp by the river. A few shrews were already awake, lighting fires and stocking logboats, but most were dozing. The one Dann needed to see was at the other side of the camp, sitting on a grassy knoll and looking out west. _

_As the squirrel came up, Logalog Dippler jumped up from his seat and ran to greet his old friend, grasping his paw tightly. "Dann, mate! What brings ye here at this hour o' the morning? Something up at Redwall?"_

_Dann motioned for him to sit down. The two faced each other in the early morning light, and Dippler's expression was enough to show he knew something was wrong._

"_Dippler…" the squirrel began, his voice heavy, "nothing's wrong at Redwall. We're – they're – all fine. It's me. I've – I've broken with Redwall, Dipp. I won't be going back."_

_There was silence for almost a complete minute. Dippler had frozen, his mouth half open. Eventually, he recovered himself, and said hoarsely, "Why, mate? What'll you do?"_

_Dann ignored the first question; it was still too painful to explain. Doubtless the Logalog would find out sooner or later. "I'm going to travel south. I need to get away from here, for a while at least. Can you help me, friend? I need provisions and some sort of cloak."_

_The shrew sighed, and nodded. "Sure, Dann, we'll get you 'em. But won't you stay with the tribe for a while? You don't have to set off right now, and you know you're welcome."_

"_No, I'm going now, Dipp. I'm sorry."_

_Later on, they stood by the path, Dann with a haversack of essentials, a dark cloak slung over his shoulders and a smooth travelling staff in paw. Dippler embraced his friend briefly. _

"_It's wrong that it had to come to this," the shrew said, his expression sombre. "Don't forget, Dann, you'll always be welcome here, whatever happens. Come back and see me again soon."_

_Dann gripped his paw. "Thanks for everything, Dippler. I won't forget you." _

_And then he was gone, walking south. He only looked back once, and there was a single tear running down his friend's furry cheek._

_/End Flashback/_

------------------------------

Far away, another squirrel also lay awake in the early hours. Abbess Songbreeze gazed out of her chamber window at the black night sky, unaware that as she too dredged up memories of seven seasons ago, her old friend Dannflor was doing the same many miles away.

As she mused, she found her thoughts inevitably drawn to the memory of Dann. They'd never since appointed another Warrior, even after all this time; many thought it would be the sensible thing to do, but Song knew that if Martin wanted another heir to his position, he would make it so. Even so, she was puzzled at this. Dann was never coming back. _And even if he did, I don't know whether I'd let him, _she thought bitterly. The hurt and the anger she had felt at his sudden outburst and departure hadn't faded. Some Redwallers were shocked; others, grieved. But Song's own emotions were confused. At times, she felt so furious with him she could barely breathe, but at others the pain of their long separation brought tears to her eyes. It was all so long ago, many of the Abbeybeasts had dismissed the whole affair from their minds, but Song barely let two days pass without thinking about Dann. There was only one other who she felt could understand some part of her heartache.

_/Flashback/_

_The shrews came only a day after the tragedy. Song spotted them first, perched high on the battlements, and ran down to greet her friend in the road. _

_She managed to stay calm while the tribe was shown to the Great Hall, where lunch was being served, but as soon as she and Dippler were safe in her office she found herself crying. Dippler put his arm around her awkwardly, trying to comfort her. When she started to tell him what had happened, he held up a paw. _

"_I know, Song. He came to our camp the night before last. He's going south. But why, matey? He never told me why he'd left Redwall."_

_Pulling herself together, Song tried to explain. "It – well, he'd been frustrated for a long while, he said, but it came to a head when an otter named Coresh arrived here. They hated each other from the start. He should have been more patient, but it all escalated when I tried to tell him, I found them later, fighting – Coresh almost died, Dippler! We had an argument – and – and he left…"_

_The two sat in silence for a while. Then Song asked, "Did you say he's gone south, Dipp?"_

"_Yes – do you want me and the tribe to go after him, or – ?"_

"No." _said Song vehemently, her eyes hardening. "He left. That's his choice. He struck down another Redwaller, he abused his responsibilities as Champion."_

_She saw Dippler's shoulders sink down in unhappiness. "That's true," he said quietly, as if he couldn't believe what he was saying of his friend. "Let us hope he sees that, and comes back to himself."_

_/End Flashback/_

And then, in the darkness of her room against the veiled sky, the full pain in Song's heart struck her like a hammer-blow, and she wept.

A/N: Please review and tell me what you think. I need some support if I'm going to post the rest of this story!


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, I never guessed I'd get such a good reception for this story! Thanks, silent seabreeze, storiewriter, Dandylions, Zealak, AdverK, rm21, Princess of Brooklyn and Dann43. Oh, and Dann43, I appreciate the review but please don't swear in reviews. Just a personal preference.

Anyway, enjoy, R&R!

Chapter Two

Dann woke the following morning with one thought in his mind: _Where to go next? _

He'd just come from a place in the very far south, where he'd been staying for a short while – no more than three weeks. That was what he was now, a nomad.

But today he could only think of going to one place. Not south again, or west to the sea, or east to the unknown desert lands; but north, to his childhood home. To Mossflower. He'd sworn to never return to the Abbey, but suddenly he felt an urge to be among trees again, in the safe, green shade of Mossflower Woods.

He could go there without seeing Redwall. Of course he could – he'd just go to visit Dippler and Burble, maybe Florian and the others as well. Surely they had left the Abbey by now? _Yes,_ he decided. He would go north, to see old friends. He really only realised it now, but he missed them, and it was painful.

So he rose, packed up camp, and set off along the wall, northwards into the prevailing wind.

------------------------------

_One Week Later_

"Whum chakka um chakka chumchakka whum!

Guosim dig your paddle deep,

Hurly-burly river wide'n'curly,

Whum chakka um chakka chumchakka whum!

Rapid wild and fast do go,

Hurly-burly river wide'n'curly,

Bend your backs an' row.

Whum chakka um chakka chumchakka whum…"

The flotilla of Guosim logboats drew in to the bank smoothly and expertly, shrews with their distinctive coloured headbands jumping out to make the canoe-like crafts secure. Logalog Dippler tied up his own logboat and helped to get the food from the larger ones. Soon enough, the efficient Guosim had a camp set up for the night. The cooks, arguing and bickering, lit fires and hauled pots and pans over to their preparation area. Babes played at the riverbank with their mothers watching carefully, and near-adult youngsters – once their customary chores were done – talked, sang and showed off. It was a normal evening for the Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower, but tonight Dippler felt like being alone.

He went downstream a little, finding a rather more secluded place to sit and think. He watched the river as the sun went down, listening to the hum of dragonflies and bees, seeing moths come out and dance over the lilies, listening to evening birds singing and the occasional hoot from a far-off owl.

Then there was a rustling from the undergrowth, and out came someone Dippler hadn't seen in many seasons.

"_Dann_!" he choked, pulling his old friend into a tight hug. A few tears coursed down his cheeks, and as Dann pulled back, he could see the squirrel's eyes were wet as well.

"Dippler, it's good to see you again," said Dann, sitting down beside his friend on the grassy bank.

"Seven seasons, Dannflor – what in all the fates 'ave ye been doin'? Come on back to the camp. We can catch up over supper."

------------------------------

Dann was more comfortable when the meal was over. Many shrews knew of his reputation and story, and he could feel them staring at him when they thought he didn't notice. Eventually, though, the two friends went off to sit in a quieter place.

Over supper, Dann had told Dippler much of what his life had been like down in the far south. The shrew listened avidly as he told of strange civilisations, many battles, friendly and hostile creatures, and the numerous escapades Dann had caught himself up in.

"You must have been lonely sometimes, though, mate," commented the shrew chieftain after he'd finished. "All on your own for so much of the time."

Dann thought. Yes, it had been hard. He'd made friends in some of the places he'd stayed, but always he would get tired of living in one place and wander on again. He shivered and rested his head on his knees. "Yes, I was very lonely. You can't know what that means, Dipp – to be so alone, all the time, and knowing you can never go back to the one place you ever called home…"

The shrew couldn't think of anything to say. So he just stayed where he was, beside Dann, both of them watchful into the night.

------------------------------

Dannflor stayed with the shrews for another three days. But on the fourth, Dippler announced the tribe was going to Redwall.

"Sorry, mate," he said to Dann, "but we need to go. Song's expecting us for the Autumn Feast, and there's a couple o' things I have to report to her – you know, rovin' vermin bands and the like."

Dann nodded. "That's fine, Dipp. I'll go on. Ah – do you know if Florian and the troupe are still at Redwall?"

"Oh, they left about half a season after you," the shrew chieftain informed him. "Were away for about five seasons, came back for a visit and went off again just a season ago. Why, are you wanting to find them?" At an affirmation from the squirrel, he said, "I think Florian took them off south-east into the woods."

"I'll go and see them, then," decided Dann. "But, Dipp – please, don't tell Songbreeze you've seen me. It'll be better for both of us if she doesn't know."

"All right, if that's what you want." The shrew's voice was sombre. "Stay in the Mossflower area, will you, Dann? I'm not going to wait another seven seasons for you."

Dann said nothing.

A few hours later, the friends took their leave of each other, Dippler going slightly north-west to Redwall, and Dann south-east to find the Sensational Wandering Noonvale Companions Troupe.

------------------------------

A group of Dibbuns were sitting quietly under a crab-apple, unnaturally still. Songbreeze came up to them, smiling at the furious expressions of concentration on their little faces. "What are you doing?" she asked, and was immediately set upon by a chorus of 'Sshhhhhh!'

"We's tryin' to make the likkle apples fall, Mudder Abbess!" hissed a small mouse. "Fri'r Butty said if we thort really really hard, we could make 'em fall!"

Song nodded, and put a paw to her lips theatrically. The mouse regarded her sternly for a moment, and then went back to staring at the little old tree.

She wandered away from the scene, up onto the Redwall battlements, and looked out onto the just-risen sun. It was a crisp morning, with the hint of autumn chill in the air. Summer was over, and suddenly Song thought it would never be summer again in her heart, either.

The odd thought disturbed her, and she decided a walk would clear her head. She slipped out by the east wall-gate, leaving a note outside the gatehouse in case anyone wanted to know where she'd gone.

For a while, she just meandered through Mossflower Woods, appreciating the beauty of the morning. The trees were still largely green, but with a speckling of gold and brown and orange; dry, curled-up leaves crunched underpaw, and birds sang.

Song was so preoccupied, she went further than she had been meaning to. Soon she was near to the big stone outcropping that was nearly a mile south-east into Mossflower. She was about to turn and go back, when she came upon a small clearing, with an overhang of rock on the other side.

And just underneath, lay a sleeping squirrel – and that squirrel was Dannflor Reguba.

Her heart pounding with shock, Song stared at him. She hadn't seen him for seven seasons, and here he was – sleeping rough in Mossflower Woods, as if he had only just left.

But his face belied the illusion. Long gone was the youthful openness; his face was lined around the eyes and the forehead, embittered and hardened by experience. He was still as handsome as she remembered, but it was a different kind of handsomeness; rugged and capable, rather than the innocent charm of his younger days.

Song couldn't speak, or move. She felt compelled to just stand there, and watch him sleeping, as she had done sometimes all those seasons ago, when they were on their quest to retrieve the tapestry of Martin the Warrior. But then, he had had the Sword of Martin by his side. Now, there were two strange, curved blades, sheathed, the hilts etched with unfamiliar letters. Song suddenly felt like crying. Dann had changed so much, and she could never share any of their lost seven seasons with him, or ever really understand him again.

Half a minute later, Dannflor's eyelids fluttered. He was stirring. Song wanted to leave quickly, forget she had ever seen him, before he saw her – but for some reason her legs wouldn't obey her.

He rubbed his eyes with a paw, and sat up. Song moved backwards, wanting desperately to get away, but he heard the movement and grabbed one of his swords – then he saw it was her, and the blade dropped from his paw in sudden shock. His astonished eyes locked with hers.

------------------------------

Dann barely felt his sword fall. He was suddenly unsure whether he was still asleep or not. All he knew was that at the other side of the clearing, her eyes wide, half-turned in flight, stood Songbreeze Swifteye, the Abbess of Redwall and his former love.

The sight of her beautiful face ripped open his old wounds. A turmoil of pain, hurt, regret and, yes, anger, froze his muscles and brain so he could barely react. The two long-estranged friends stood for a long minute, just staring.

Then at last, Song found the courage to speak. "I – I thought never to see you again."

"Nor I you," replied Dann, picking up his sword and sheathing it at his belt.

There was another awkward silence. Song gestured to Dann's twin blades. "When did you get those?"

"Made them myself, a long time ago," Dann said. Then, in a strangled voice, "Song – "

But she could no longer stand it, and turned and ran, into the safety of the rolling trees.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3!! Thanks to Dann43 (its OK!), silent seabreeze, Dandylions, storiewriter, Zealak, clara200, Princess of Brooklyn, Sabrepaw, finnbar galedeep, petersfan and Prefect Rachel - you're all very much appreciated!

Chapter Three

Dann knew he was dreaming.

He wandered through an early spring forest, looking for someone. He couldn't remember who it was he was searching for. But for now, he was content to just walk through this beautiful wood.

Then the world was thrown into turmoil and he saw the look in Song's eyes again. He tried to turn away from her, to hide, but she wouldn't leave. Then his long-lost father appeared, his face angry, shouting "Reguba! Reguba!" Blood pounded in Dann's ears. He couldn't take much more of this chaos.

Just as he thought his head would explode with the pressure, all became silent and serene once more. He was floating on a grey sea, and abruptly a strong paw grasped his and stood him on his feet. An armoured mouse looked straight into his eyes, his expression stern. All of a sudden Dann was very afraid, and he turned and ran away from the mouse he knew had to be Martin the Warrior, the mouse with the challenge in his eyes.

_What will you make of the rest of your life? Will you live on alone until you die and never make a difference in the world? Or will you return and take up again the mantle of authority I gave to you?_

Dann felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks. _How can I ever? I broke with you! I vowed never again to be called the Warrior of Redwall!_

_I gave that title to you, and to you alone. No one else can take it up until you have fulfilled your duty. Return, Dannflor Reguba, my rescuer! Return! _

With a start, Dannflor woke up, and the tears were real. He curled up against the night cold and for the first time, cried out his heart for all he had lost through his own pride and blindness.

------------------------------

Song had run almost the whole way back to Redwall. Now it was night again, and she was still in her bedchamber, where she had been all day, not answering to the many knocks she had received on the door. It was almost midnight; there was no moon. The Abbess of Redwall sat hunched up in her large patchworked armchair, not noticing the cold now that her fire had been reduced to darkly glowing embers. Her mind was still all a-swirl from the morning's events, and she couldn't think properly without her thoughts turning to the sight of Dann with his two curved swords.

She started as her door creaked open suddenly in the dark and a figure walked in. It was her grandmother, Ellayo. The little, bent old squirrel leant on her stick and gazed at her granddaughter.

"Grandma – " Song began, but was horrified as her voice cracked like an upset Dibbun. Ellayo held out her arms and Song rushed into them, desperately clinging onto her grandmother as sobs racked her body.

"Now, now, dear," said Ellayo in a soothing voice, hugging her tightly. "What's all this? What on earth has happened?"

Song hiccupped, trying to brush away the tears as the elderly squirrel sat her down gently on the bed. Her grandmother waited patiently as she cried herself out, gradually calming down enough to explain what had happened.

Ellayo listened gravely until Song had finished. "Oh, my dear," she said. "So that rascal Dannflor showed up again after all these seasons, did he? It breaks my heart, really it does, thinking how far he went wrong. Meeting him like that must have been terrible."

Song could only nod tearfully.

"So then, dear, what are you going to do about it?" asked Ellayo, looking seriously at her granddaughter. "Are you just going to forget it all, or are you going to try and find him?"

Song stared at the ancient squirrel. "But – Grandma – he left Redwall, he broke with us forever!"

"Then why do you think he's come back? He may not even know it himself, but I would bet he misses you and Redwall just as much as he misses the other friends he left behind."

"But I can't go after him, Grandma, don't you see!" Song cried. "Most of my Redwallers have pushed that whole affair to the back of their minds. They would need to know why if suddenly, after all these years, I wanted to find him. And I don't – I don't!"

Ellayo looked sombrely at Song. "Well, if that's what you feel is best," she said. "But, dear heart, remember this: all of us here at the Abbey care for you, and if my feeling is right, then Dannflor Reguba still does as well." And with that, she was gone from the room, leaving Songbreeze to her confused and sleepless thoughts.

------------------------------

The assassins creep through the wood, their black clothes blending perfectly into the moondark night. Their footpaws make no noise in the leaf loam. Their breath does not appear as mist in the cold air. Their cloaks do not rustle and their eyes have no whites.

The phalanx of assassins has been walking for over three miles, but they do not tire, not the assassins. They are intent on their goal. They will get to it if it takes them a thousand seasons.

They pause beside a great oak tree. Under the tree lies a fitfully sleeping squirrel, tossing and murmuring in distressed dreams. This creature is who they have been searching for.

One assassin, silent as starlight, gently removes the two sword sheaths from the squirrel's belt. The others gather up his possessions, then one, the biggest, reaches down to the squirrel's face. A black paw passes over his face, and suddenly the squirrel falls limp in a deeper sleep than he was before.

For tonight, the assassins are not performing their primary role. They would like nothing better than to kill this unknowing victim, slide a thin blade between his ribs and squeeze the life out of him. But tonight the All-knowing One has prevented it. For what reason, the assassins know not. But the important thing is done. The squirrel is their prisoner.


	4. The Summer of Wildflowers

An Account of the Events of the Summer of Wildflowers

Taken from the records of Kessran, Master of the Library at White Lake.

It is autumn now. The leaves on the willows are falling into the lake, and the wind is growing colder. And it is now that I must record the happenings of this summer, the most eventful we at White Lake have seen in many seasons.

In the spring, there was no warning of the hardships to come, no hint we might have heeded to be better prepared. When – only a week after our start-of-summer feast – the vermin came, we were taken completely unawares.

It must be said that if not for the swift actions of our night-watchers Lera and Maske Thornhelm, White Lake would have been taken almost immediately. They risked death in raising the alarm when what we know now as the Dancing Flame Horde, a group of vermin all fanatically loyal to their leader – a mysterious figure known simply as the All-knowing One – attacked White Lake. They were bent on conquering all the Southlands, and our small settlement was the first obstacle.

As I said, we managed to escape in the initial battle, as our warriors were roused and beat back the horde, who had clearly not expected such resistance. But Dancing Flame didn't give up, and from then on we lived in a state of siege. We were beginning to run out of supplies and fighters after two weeks – but then one day, there was a commotion outside in the camp of the horde. A lone mercenary breached the siege, just for a moment, and managed to get inside the settlement.

His name was Dannflor Reguba, he told us, a squirrel warrior from the north. He had heard of White Lake in his travels and had hoped to buy food and other essentials from us before going onwards. But he had seen us under attack from Dancing Flame, and realised we needed help.

The council and I were initially sceptical. How could this rough, wild, haunted-looking squirrel help us defeat the invaders? But, as Lera Thornhelm asserted, he had successfully got through the horde into White Lake. This Dannflor Reguba must have at least some knowledge of war.

We welcomed Dannflor into White Lake, fed him and gave him a place to stay. In return, he started to help us beat back Dancing Flame. I myself helped him draw up many of the plans he devised; it was surprising to see one so young – only a few seasons an adult – know so much of the art of combat. And although he led every charge and every covert operation, and was amazingly skilled with his double blades, he never once told anyone anything about where he had come from or why he was alone. I confess I was – and still am, if I am truthful – curious, but I felt it best not to intrude on his privacy.

Four weeks in and the situation was such that a reckoning had to come soon, if we were to defeat Dancing Flame. Together with Dannflor, the council decided on a plan that they hoped would crush Dancing Flame Horde for good.

Dann and the two warrior chieftains of White Lake, Thakr Brightsword and Emral Westhall, would lead a charge out from the settlement into the vermin horde. Meanwhile, our moles would dig a tunnel outwards, past the camp, and let out the remaining warriors there to cut into the side of the attackers.

But the enemy were one step ahead of us. Either there was a spy in White Lake, or they heard the sounds of digging under the ground – we still do not know; but the moles' tunnel was deliberately caved in and many lives were lost. All our hopes now depended on Dannflor and his attack.

To better describe the events of that battle, I write here in Dannflor's own words, the way he told it to the council afterwards.

"The moment we saw the ground collapse just metres away from where we were fighting, we knew something had gone horribly wrong. I broke out of the battle and got over to the cave-in. I knew there was nothing we could do for those underneath, and I had to finish the fight as soon as I could.

'The others were busy keeping the vermin at bay. I noticed that the enemy force didn't seem to have any driving purpose, at least at that moment; they were just fighting blindly, keeping themselves alive. They had no commands, no strategy, and as a result they were slowly being beaten back. It was totally different from the way they had fought before.

'I realised it had to be because their leader wasn't there. The All-knowing One, as they called him. Maybe he had been injured, but most likely, he had recognised his attack was failing and had abandoned the Horde to save his own skin. I had to find him and get rid of him, otherwise he might come back to try again.

'I ran through the camp, and up ahead I spotted several figures heading off into the foothills beyond the lake. I drew my swords and went after them. They started running; it had to be the All-knowing One and his personal bodyguard.

'I caught up with them and the guards turned on me. They were cloaked in black so I couldn't see their faces, and they fought with long swords. I fought with them for what seemed a long time – I'm not sure exactly how long – trying to get to the one in the centre, the leader. Eventually, I knocked one of the guards out and forced the All-knowing One to draw his own sword.

'He was very skilled. If his bodyguards hadn't drawn back – I think it was part of some kind of combat honour code – it would have been the end of me. As it was, we were locked in one-on-one combat for almost an hour. Gradually, he started tiring. I kept up my attack, until at last I got a blow in, across his chest. He fell backwards and I went in for the kill, but at that moment I think one of his guards knocked me out from behind. It was fortunate for me that the remainder of the White Lake forces came towards us then, or I probably would have been killed."

Here Dannflor ended his account. He left White Lake two weeks after this, having recovered from his injuries. Many of us wished him to stay, but he insisted on leaving; he was a traveller at heart, I think. White Lake will always remember him as the hero who saved us from the Dancing Flame Horde, and we hope he will come back to us someday.


	5. Chapter 5

Really sorry for the delay with this! Thanks to clara200, Dann43, petersfan76, storiewriter, Sabrepaw, Luna Goldsun, Redwallfreak and Prefect Rachel for the reviews.

Chapter Four

Dannflor woke with a start and was completely disorientated. His paws were spread-eagled on the ground, each tied down to the ground – or so it seemed. For after a second he realised he couldn't feel any rope or chain on his wrists. They were simply pinned down, seemingly of their own accord.

Panic seized Dann and he desperately tried to move his paws, writhing against the invisible bonds that held him down. He yelled and roared to no avail. What on earth had happened? Who was holding him captive?

He slumped back, breathing heavily. He looked around and took stock of his surroundings. The sky was no longer visible; he was in a wooden building, a room with no windows, but a small round opening in the ceiling. The beam of light from the hole shone directly onto Dann's face, but he was at such a loss to his position he couldn't even tell the time of day. He began to feel very afraid. Here he was, a prisoner, held down by some arcane force he couldn't even see, alone.

In his fear, the panicked Dann cried out silently for those he thought he had long given up associating with safety. _Father! Dippler! Song!_

Just then, a black-shrouded figure entered his sphere of vision. He couldn't see what sort of creature it was. But in one paw it held a gleaming blade. Dann struggled furiously.

The creature swung down the knife and put it to the captive's throat. A rasping voice emitted from somewhere below the hood.

"You will be silent. You will be still. You will be taken to the All-knowing One!"

------------------------------

Not far away, somewhere in the far north-east regions of Mossflower, an otterclan was packing up their camp in preparation for moving on. Laskye Streamdog, a young male otter, threw water from the stream onto the smouldering fire to put it out, stamping on it just to make sure. All around him, otters were loading the few clan possessions that could not be carried onto a little raft. Everything else would be tied to the belts of swimming otters as the clan travelled.

Well, not everything else, Laskye thought. There was another raft floating beside the first, larger and more secure, with its own retinue of clanbeasts. Suddenly, Laskye remembered he was on duty to help with the loading, and ran to the streambank.

As Laskye and some other otters held the raft close to the bank, down from the camp came a strange procession. Two burly, muscled otters made their careful way to the river, carrying between them a wooden chair, in which sat an ageing squirrel. Although his deep-seamed face showed only the normal signs of age, his legs seemed to have been struck by some terrible disease. They were withered, spindly and useless, twisted almost beyond recognition. It was clear the squirrel had not walked in some time, or ever would again.

Laskye averted his eyes quickly as the squirrel looked over his way, not wanting to be caught staring. But he was very curious about the old creature, having only just joined this clan from his mother-tribe and heard the story. According to some of the other young otters – although the information could be faulty, due to the nature of rumours in the camp – no one knew the squirrel's real name. He was simply known as Old One. He had been taken in by the clan about a season ago, after being rescued from the cave where he had lain dying of the wasting disease that had wrecked his legs. Old One spoke sometimes, quietly and never for very long; but from his rare divulgences, the otters had been able to find out where he came from – a place called Redwall Abbey, in Mossflower country. The clan was from the far north-east, so they had only heard a few legends about this place. But the Chief had decided they should take the squirrel home; after all, they could not leave him, and he could not stay with the travelling clan forever. So just half a season before Laskye joined the tribe, they had begun the journey south-west to Mossflower. They were nearly there. And as, day by day, Old One spent more time deeply asleep and was less and less able to do even the simplest things for himself, the whole clan knew why their Chief had made the decision in the first place.

Old One, the squirrel with no name, was dying.

A/N: Yes, it was short, forgive me! R&R.


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the delay. Thanks for the reviews, everyone!

Chapter Six

Menace hung in the air. Dannflor felt crushed by the sheer weight of it, the dread that was seeping into every corner of his mind. The strange, cowled creatures had taken him – still restrained by what seemed to be thin air – through a network of earthen passages, only blindfolding him a few turns ago. And all around him, though he could see nothing, the feeling of being trapped – hunted – shadowed – watched – marked for death – clutched at him like the wiry, sharp-clawed paws of his captors.

And something else hid in his mind, below the fears. A picture of the hooded creature flitted round the edges of his consciousness, along with the insistent notion that he had _seen_ this before, had _known _what it was. He wasn't sure of it. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him – or, a thought came sibilantly, maybe _their _minds were playing tricks on him. Dann knew it was possible that they were somehow causing, somehow making, the invisible force that bound his arms. So who knew? – he had seen many strange things on his travels. Perhaps these creatures could invade his very mind, suggest things to him without his ever knowing. The possibility made his throat dry with fear.

But then again, maybe not. Maybe he really did recognise his captors. But from _where_?

After what seemed about an hour of walking, Dann heard a creak not unlike that of a door opening. One of the creatures behind him pushed him forward a few paces, and then the two on either side of him pushed him to his knees. Dann tried to resist, but their grips were like steel.

His blindfold was removed and Dann blinked in sudden daylight. After all the travelling through underground tunnels, he had expected to be in a subterranean chamber of some sort. But he knelt on a smooth, polished wooden floor, in a large above-ground room with long, narrow windows high up on the walls spilling bright sunlight onto the scene. At the other end of the room, a high-backed wooden chair stood, and in it – looking like some kind of king – sat a black-cloaked stoat, gazing directly at Dann.

Dann flinched backwards as memory came crashing back down on him. The settlement of White Lake – Dancing Flame – the All-knowing One –

The stoat smiled coldly, watching the guards behind the squirrel tighten their grip as he struggled in his invisible bonds. "You remember me, then," he said in a quiet, almost sad voice.

Dannflor glared up at the All-knowing One. "I remember you, murderer. Why are you here? Come to take your revenge for the defeat of Dancing Flame?"

Two more bodyguards stepped out from behind the throne. In perfect unison, the cowled warriors unsheathed their long swords and swung them round to point at Dann. He felt the silver touch of steel on the pulsing vein at the side of his neck, and barely dared to breathe.

"I would not mock me, were I in your place, Reguba." The stoat gestured quickly with a claw, and Dann felt the circulation of his wrists cut off by the force holding him down. The last of his bravado dropped away and his eyes locked with the All-knowing One's, fear of the unknown causing his heart to race. _How did he know my name? And what sorcery is he using to bind me?_

"There is something I want you to tell me," the stoat declared, rising from his throne with a slow, sibilant grace. "And believe me, you will."

------------------------------

The shrews had arrived at Redwall Abbey. Dibbuns ran shrieking around the gate, gleefully escaping the clutches of their parents, as the threshold was opened and the brightly-clad Guosim poured into the Abbey. Logalog Dippler and Abbess Songbreeze greeted each other warmly as the creatures under their care mingled freely, enquiring after those missing, finding old friends, and even reminding them of favours promised. For the shrews and Redwallers, it was an ordinary season-meeting; but for Dippler and Song, the gathering and ensuing feast held a bittersweet tang.

The Abbess of Redwall was calm and collected throughout the evening; but Dipp could tell she was holding something back, something painful. He felt the same, believing Song knew nothing about Dannflor's reappearance. As the celebration came to a close, tired and happy creatures retiring to their beds, the two chieftains went and sat together on the darkened battlements. At first there was a companionable silence, the quiet of old friends; but as they looked out on the moonlit path, Dippler began to speak.

"Do you remember coming home, Song?" he asked, smiling wistfully. "All us four together, with your grandfather and the hedgehogs and the freed slaves…"

They were both thrown back to that glorious day; the singing as the victorious company marched back up to Redwall, the welcome home, the feeling of at last having brought Martin home. Song remembered it, all right. But she wished she couldn't. She wished she couldn't remember the feeling of Dann beside her, his paw gripping hers, as they walked into the Abbey.

Song looked at Dippler, and was shocked to see there was a tear running down his spiky-furred cheek. "Dipp –" she said, her caring instinct overriding her own pain. "Dipp, what is it?"

He turned to face her. "I think you know, Song. He's been here, hasn't he?"

Song put her hands over her face, trying to hold back the all-too-familiar tears. "Not here, Dippler. I came across him, in the woods – Dipp, I couldn't –"

The shrew chief didn't know what to say. The memory of a beloved warrior, a friend, a companion, hung between them and choked them. Both of them ached deep inside. The wounds were open, and bleeding.

------------------------------

In the midst of his agony, Dann remembered.

_/Flashback/_

_He tossed and turned in his bed, dreaming. He is hovering over Redwall Abbey, watching a scene in the daylight, as two squirrels argue outside the gates._

"_Rusvul! You can't mean this!" says one, grabbing his friend's shoulder. "You don't have to leave. None of this is your fault!"_

"_Yes it is, Janglur!" yells back the other. He looks close to tears. "I'm his father! How can it not be my fault? And even if it wasn't, do you think I could live out my days with creatures pointing at me behind my back, shaking their heads, wondering what I did to make him go so wrong?"_

_Janglur is at a loss for words. "But – Rus –"_

"_I'm leaving. Like my son did." Rusvul wrenches away from his friend's grip. "This is for the best, Janglur. Thank you."_

_And he turns, and walks away, into the summer haze. _

_Dann woke, and knew what he saw was real. _

_/End Flashback/_

A/N: This story is meant to be primarily about Song and Dann, not a war with the All-knowing One. So please tell me if you think I'm going too far down that path. Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry this was slow in coming. Thanks to all reviewers - hope you enjoy.

Chapter Seven

Pain racked Dann's whole body. The red haze of blood clouded his vision as he writhed and screamed, begging for it to stop, shrieking for release. Agony bored like daggers into his flesh, his back was flayed open and his paws were clenched so tightly that his own claws raked furrows in his palms. He was aware of the five bodyguards standing in a grim circle around him, the All-knowing One at their head. The burning pain drove him close to the red flames of insanity, and he welcomed it. But before the sweet relief of not caring any more could take him, the torture stopped and he heard the cruel stoat whispering in his ear.

"If you tell us, it will all be over."

How could he do it? How could he betray her?

_You abandoned that life,_ murmured his treacherous self. _You cut all ties with her. Do it. You have nothing to lose. _

But why? Dann screamed in his head. Why does he want her?

_That's not your problem. Forget this pointless bravery. _

But Dann couldn't do it. He had thought himself cut away from her and all she represented, but now in his time of need he realised he had never really hated her. He needed her, desperately.

The tortured squirrel frantically attempted to get up, get away, but the hooded assassins clenched their clawed fists and Dann screamed.

------------------------------

The eldest assassin watched impassively as the prisoner twisted and screamed. He remembered well what this kind of torture was like; the agonised conviction that you were dying, that you were being burnt and bled to death, when the only hurt was in your mind. The assassin had come through it alive. He was one of the strong. Now, instead of receiving the pain, he inflicted it.

The prisoner's eyes rolled back in his head. The assassin kept his paw clenched.

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Three days after the welcoming feast, the bells of Redwall tolled out a warning. Creatures were coming down the path, a great convoy of them, but too far away to be recognised.

Janglur Swifteye shaded his eyes with a paw, squinting out into the autumn sunlight. "I'll go out and see who they are, Song," he said to his green-clad daughter, who was standing behind him on the north wall. "Me an' Skipper."

"Dad –" Song protested, but Janglur silenced her with a wave of his paw. "Don't worry about us, Mother Abbess," he said teasingly. "They're most likely friends, coming down the path in broad daylight."

Song attempted a smile and gestured down the stairs. "Well then, on with you, Swifteye!"

Janglur saluted and clattered back down the wallsteps, but as he went to find the otter chieftain his heart worried for Song. Something was wrong with his daughter; he had been a father long enough to know that.

------------------------------

The two Redwallers met the strangers half way up the path. It was a company of otters, quite unknown to the Mossflower crew; Skipper met their chief formally and found they were from an area far north and east of Mossflower Woods.

"But why are ye here, then, mate?" asked Skipper curiously. "I doubt it's just a social call."

The other otter shook his head. "No, friend. Are you from Redwall Abbey?"

"Yes."

"We have one of your creatures with us. A squirrel. When we came across him, he was dying."

Janglur felt as if he was choking. Surely, it couldn't be –

The northern otter chief turned and signalled behind him, and four big otters came out of the crowd, carrying between them a makeshift wooden chair.

"Rusvul Reguba!" breathed Janglur, his throat tightening as the Old One – who now had a name – looked up and stared straight into his eyes.

------------------------------

"What can I do?" Song desperately asked the air. She should forget Dann, get on with her own life, even if that meant hating him – so why couldn't she? Why did his guarded expression haunt her thoughts? Why did she feel so betrayed by the formality and fear between them?

"He's no longer part of this Abbey, and so my life," she told herself, trying to be firm. But she spoke the words without meaning them. Had a day gone by in the last seven seasons when she had not thought of him at least once? Barely, if she was honest. Tears of helpless confusion welled up in Song's eyes. What, indeed, could she do?

Looking down from the battlements, she saw her father and Skipper bringing visitors in; a rather large band of squirrels, from far away by the looks of them. A few seemed to be carrying some kind of litter – a wooden chair.

She looked at the creature, and froze.

Surely, no.

Was she forever destined to be reminded of what she had driven away?

A/N: Quite short this time, I know. R&R!


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